


"weary head to rest"

by fannishliss



Series: The Promise Verse post 5.22 AU [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Promise Verse, post 5.22 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's perspective on this year, and the long-awaited reunion!</p><p>Promise Verse. "Last chapter!"  Thanks to Kansas for the title!  </p><p>Thanks very much to somnolentblue  for her great advice on the last two chapters; any remaining awkwardness is owned by my geeky self. o_O  Thanks very much to all who have read these chapters and passed along encouragement --- this is more plot than I ever thought I'd take on, and it was a wonderful journey for me.  s6 in two weeks -- woohoo!</p>
            </blockquote>





	"weary head to rest"

**_~heaven~_ **

Castiel sucked at goodbyes, so Dean had informed him.

Castiel considered it more accurate to say that he had a tenuous and somewhat theoretical knowledge of parting and reunion, depending, as such things did, on temporality, division, and a feeling in oneself of lack, desperation, or need for the beloved.   With Dean so deeply threaded through his grace, Castiel neither feared nor felt any separation from him. 

So yeah, Castiel had to acknowledge, he sucked at goodbyes.  Dean was an instructive tutor in the ways of humanity, but Castiel was not a terribly apt pupil.

Now that Castiel was an archangel, and not a wayward warrior bleeding grace like Sebastian pinned to his tree, he sucked even harder at goodbyes.

He could see the path of Dean's life leading back -- back through the last two years, since Castiel had pulled him out of the Pit -- back through his apprenticeship to Alastair and the scars it had left on his soul -- back through his suffering on the rack -- back to when he had sold himself at the crossroads -- back to his years as a Hunter, his years in school, back to the day he carried Sammy from his burning home -- indeed back to the machinations of Angels and demons that led to his parents' love, marriage, and the moment of Dean's conception.

As an archangel, Castiel could even glimpse forward, the frothy strands of futures glimmering in the sea of possibility, like the filmy tentacles of a man o'war.

In every future, Castiel himself watched over this righteous man. His mother had promised the young Dean that Angels were watching over him --- not even dimly aware of Michael's twisted sense of humor in purging the young former Hunter's knowledge of her own fate and the fate of her children and her gentle, loving husband -- but Castiel appointed himself as Dean's guardian in response to that mother's promise, taking on that responsibility with complete devotion.

The certainty of an archangel is no mere faith. The grace of an archangel is incandescent with the power of all Heaven's Angels, streaming strong and bright into that one focal point. Castiel's belief in Dean was the lodestar of his grace, and his love for his charge the one thing that prompted him to regularly shirk the duties of his new Heavenly station.

Ash could mind the store now and again. On earth, once again, night had fallen.

 

**_~night~_ **

When an archangel wishes, beggars not only ride, but virgins bear sons, stones become bread, and dead brothers rise from the grave.

Castiel's powers of observation, now, did not extend merely to absorbing every detail of an event, down to the atom.

The event itself began to bend, to correspond with his wishes.

As Castiel observed Dean playing at pool in Peoria, Illinois, he wholeheartedly approved of the responsiveness of the billiard balls to Dean's expert nudging. He took great satisfaction in the way the balls rolled along such precise paths, like the planets traveling their ordained spheres. 

As Dean pocketed his winnings, Castiel gave his benison to the men who smiled with a nod and peacefully gave up their money.

He had no idea why Dean had shouted so angrily for Castiel later that night.

But after Dean fell asleep, even the hell-haunted Hunter had respite in dreams, and there the Archangel found him, wearing the rumpled clothes and sincere blue-eyed visage of a soul that had long since moved on to his reward in the fields of the Lord.

"Screw you, Cas!"  Dean shouted, when Castiel walked into the diner Dean was dreaming.  Dean angrily shoved back his oversized burger, stood, and confronted Castiel. 

"It is good to see you, Dean,"  Castiel said, but Dean was too angry, and Castiel found himself staggering backward, clutching his jaw.  Apparently, Dean fervently dreamed of decking Castiel. 

"You wanna bail on me, go right ahead!  But do not come messing around, invisible and crap, dicking with my game.  Dick!" 

Castiel saw that Dean was displeased with his winnings.

"You needed to build a stake, an honest source of cash.  Hustling is deceitful, but at least it involves willing dupes."

Dean glared and turned John-brown eyes on Castiel. Interesting that when he was angry, he dreamed he had his father's eyes. 

Lifting an accusatory finger, Dean laid down the law.  "You do not cheat for me at pool. Unacceptable.  Got it?"

Castiel shrugged.  "The universe bends to my will now.  It's not intentional--"

"Don't.  You got it? Don't."  Dean turned away, and the dream went black.  Dean walked out on Castiel, down the pitchblack road that led to a deeper, dreamless sleep. 

"I make no promises, Dean," Castiel said mildly, wondering if Dean would even hear him as he sank into unconsciousness.  Dean's one-fingered salute, aimed at the Angel behind him, gave Castiel his only answer.

 

**_~night~_ **

 

When Dean knocked on Lisa's door, Castiel covered his faces with his wings.  He did not wish the power of his grace to influence Lisa's judgment. Castiel was aware that he did not fully comprehend the wonders of the human mind and heart. He had no business swaying Lisa's reaction -- it had to be genuine, proceeding from the depths of her own heart and wisdom.

As she embraced Dean, led him to a comfortable bed, and bid him good night, Castiel wept.  He wondered at himself and felt his grace blessing her spontaneously. She fell asleep smiling in a pool of moonlight.

Dean, safe in the comfort of Lisa's bed, dreamed of Sam.  His nightmare horrified even Castiel, who had seen Hell in person.  Maybe, the archangel thought, his firsthand knowledge of Hell made Dean's imagined recreation all the more horrific.

Sam stood leaning against a blood-spattered marble wall, naked, unbound.  The power of Lucifer, Dean thought, pinned him there, and Dean himself, black-eyed and bloody, carved into Sam's body while Sam screamed and pleaded, Lucifer's power healing the wounds so that Dean could recut them, over and over. 

"This is not happening, Dean,"  Castiel said urgently, but he couldn't help flinching when Dean's hateful demonic countenance whipped around to spit at him in scorn.

"Shut the hell up, Cas!  What do you know? Nothing!  You won't get him out, you won't lift a finger. He's trapped in the cage with Lucifer and god knows what else!"

Dean's real tears of pain and horror flowed from the mockery of his black-eyed visage, twisted into a Joker's grimace.

"No, Dean.  No demons could survive in the presence of the archangels.  Sam may be trapped with him, but he and Adam are alone with Michael and Lucifer, not subject to the wickedness of Hell.  That much at least I know." 

Dean closed his eyes, wiping his face with the back of one bloody, knife-wielding hand.  When he opened them, they were green again, but filled with so much sorrow. The phantasm of Sam faded to fog in the background, a small mercy.

"Please, Cas. I'm begging you.  Bring him back.  Don't leave him there!  Tell God, or whatever, send your warriors.  You gotta break him out.  Please!"  

"I'll do what I can," Castiel said, but Dean knew it wasn't a promise.

His whimpers awakened Lisa, whose touch was a comfort Castiel couldn't give.

 

**_~heaven~_ **

****

Ash's company was an unexpected boon to Castiel.   He was both whipsmart and utterly relaxed, with a strange moral certainty about him as he casually encouraged pleasant vices and urged Castiel on to greater good.

It was Ash who helped Castiel, as he thought of it, rewrite the codes that ran Heaven.  Castiel could comprehend and follow the infinite threads of lives and memories spinning outward from humanity's vast multitudes, but it was Ash who helped bring it all into order.

Castiel could hear the voices of every Angel; he could hear the entire Choir or their individual voices. But it was Ash who teased out the reality of how Angels and human souls moved, thought, and conversed in the heavenly sphere.  He thought of it as physics, which seemed inaccurate to Castiel, but that was immaterial, since Ash's theories played out, allowing him to visit other humans and revise the gates so that human souls could interact freely in Heaven with one another.

Even more amazing to Castiel was that Ash was able to apply his tracking of human souls in Heaven to tracking the movements of demons on Earth.  He regularly supplied Sam and Castiel with coordinates marking where demons were active, so that Sam could contact demons to offer them his terms. Sam could sense the movements of demons when they were nearby, but once he had identified them, Ash could track particular demons anywhere on Earth. Ash was invaluable to Castiel, as a deputy, and as a friend.

When Ash caught wind of Sam’s escape, Castiel was the first to know. 

Dean, Castiel thought, would be the last.  Dean’s soul had a void in it shaped like Sam, and as much as Castiel admired the love Dean felt for his brother, it was equally important that Dean start  living his own life for his own sake.  As his life with Lisa and Ben began to stabilize and prosper, Dean began to understand himself to be more than just a killer strategically positioned between Sam and a world of threats.  Castiel blessed Dean’s every endeavor, and the little successes began to build Dean up.  He began to see himself the way others saw him – not a loser, but a good man, kind and capable. Castiel blessed Dean’s growth with every tremor of his wings, dropping tears of blessing from his many eyes.

****

**_~heaven~_ **

Castiel felt the earth tremble as Sam tore into its reality from beyond.    Castiel’s joy that Sam was free was tinged by a respectful apprehension toward what Sam had become -- but as Castiel dove toward Sam on widespread wings, he felt no evil in the man. Their embrace was sweet indeed, as Castiel tasted that Sam was at last free of the sulfurous taint of demon blood.

Sam wanted nothing more than to fly to his brother, but Castiel knew a truth far too unkind to tell:  the hole inside Dean was shaped like Sam, and it was finally beginning to heal.

Dean had lived his whole life as a shield around Sam, his brother more vital to him than his own soul.  It was love, and it was selfless, but it ate away at Dean. 

Dean loved his little brother far more than he had ever loved himself, his hero dad, or even the sainted memory of his mother. Sam was everything Dean dreamed of being in his heart of hearts -- smarter, kinder, more idealistic, brave, a strong fighter -- he was even taller, grown strong and broad on a diet Dean made sure would nourish him.  Dean had loved his brother with a fierce, demanding love -- one that laid claim to all that was good and true for Sammy, yet could not let him go.

Sam himself loved Dean like a part of the world as intrinsic as air, gravity, time itself.  He had no concept of a world without Dean. Always his brother had been there, leading him, catching him before he fell, helping him over the next hurdle, challenging him to top a higher hill.   

Sam and Dean were everything to each other, bound tightly together by a love far stronger than death, so strong that even Lucifer had thrown down the pike with which he would have stabbed at Heaven, in awe before a love between brothers the likes of which he had never thought to imagine.

Castiel saw how Gabriel’s cruel trick in Broward county revealed to Sam how deeply his world was rooted in the reality of Dean. Sam had never known a mother, only a drill sergeant for a father -- but his brother had been his constant companion, his comrade, the one person who defined all he was and all he was not.

Castiel ached for Sam after Dean went to Hell for his sake.  Totally unable to function, Sam was ripe for Ruby when she tempted him to unlock his power. Sam had to redeem his brother's soul -- he had to save Dean -- to repay him for a life  yielded up far too easily. 

Dean had returned with Sam's name on his lips, but the buzz of demon blood kept him from hearing it, the red haze before his eyes wouldn't let him see.  Corruption saturated Sam, reassuring him that his power was all that was needed, himself all sufficient. 

Dean longed for his brother, and Sam was right there, but he had never been farther away.

Castiel remembered with sadness the sizzling stench around Sam, the demon blood that had broken the brothers. Sam was enraged almost all the time, and Dean was nearly paralyzed by despair -- horrified at the thought that Sam was willingly embracing the very thing he’d broken and become in the Pit..

Dean felt responsible for leaving Sam alone; he felt he had failed to teach Sam all he'd needed to survive.  Sam, regretful and wracked by guilt, could barely look Dean in the face.

They’d been pushed and pulled and manipulated; killed and brought back; put between so many rocks and hard places they were worn down to dust.

But when Dean finally said yes to Michael, ready to just quit and be done with it all, it was Sam’s unwavering faith in him that turned him around.

Sam’s belief in Dean brought them back to a place where Dean could believe in Sam in return.   When he saw Sam close his eyes and fall back into the Pit,  Dean finally understood that Sam was no longer a child, no longer a baby brother his to carry out of a burning building, but a man, and a hero.   There was no doubt in Dean’s mind --  Sam had saved the world. Sam had made a choice and gone down fighting, and he had won.   Dean had only one way to repay Sam for his heroic sacrifice, and that was to honor the promise he’d made.

Castiel saw all of this from a distance, from his eagle-eyed perspective outside time, outside humanity.   He saw Dean’s slow but relentless progress in healing from the grievous wound of Sam’s loss.  He saw Dean begin to make a place for himself outside the fishbowl world of Winchester men.

Castiel reckoned that Dean had a chance, and maybe this one chance only, to find out who he was without the weight of duty warping him beyond recognition. So the archangel deflected Sam with important missions, loose ends, and noble quests. Unasked, admittedly unwanted, Castiel bought Dean a little time.

 

****

**_~night~_ **

Castiel walked into a bar.  It was a typical place for Winchesters, a little dirty, a little dark, but it had cheap beer and pool tables, and Sam and Dean were hustling a group of guys, about to easily take five hundred.

Castiel had seen this dozens of times.  It was one of Dean's fondest dreams.    He smiled, and the dupes at the table grew a little dumber, Sam's break wonderfully clean.   Sam played drunk with the brilliance of Redford, and Dean flashed a Newman smile through green eyes.

The brothers drank and cheated and laughed and hugged, and it was a dream, but for Dean, for the moment, it was real. His heart was full, and for the moment, unbroken, the light inside him blinding, feeding the grace of his Archangel, the holes inside him mending.  Sam was a part of him now, trusted, beloved, mourned, but not a piece missing. Castiel smiled, and faded away without speaking. 

 

**_~evening~_ **

Dean had a whiskey with supper. It had been that perfect Saturday Dean never used to think he'd live to see.  Grilled ribeyes hot on sizzle platters, fresh off the grill, and Dean passed the rolls and mashed potatoes, while Ben chattered on about how close he was to the black belt.  Ben had thrown Dean twice that afternoon, sparring in the backyard, and Lisa had rewarded Dean for his very real pains with two fingers of classy Kentucky bourbon.

Castiel watched more closely than he ever allowed himself, peering into the hearts minds of these so beloved  -- a consummation so devoutly wished that even Chuck, playing prophet, couldn't have improved on it.  

Inside, a domestic triad was breaking bread. Outside, a crack of thunder rolled through the early May twilight, tolling the arrival of an ominous figure under a crackling street lamp.

The wings of an archangel hovered round the house, his thousand thirsty eyes trained unblinking on the souls inside.

The time, at last, was right.

Sam's might threatened to overflow, but Castiel was not really alarmed. Saviour of demons, arbiter of the crossroads, friend of an antichrist, counsellor of archangels--  Sam Winchester,  demigod with a heart full to bursting, placed his finger on the bell. 

Ben opened the door. 

Sam stood on the threshold. 

"Will you tell your dad someone needs to speak with him, please? It's ... a surprise."

Ben's wary eyes measured Sam, throwing holy water and cutting him with silver, but Dean hadn't trained this kid to fear, to lash out.  Ben trusted Dean, trusted the wards on the house, the flicker of his eyes alerting Sam to the glowing lines of blessing he'd helped Dean apply to every ingress, the holiness of the mezuzah Lisa had mounted, the traps they painted, while permeating everything was the indelible Enochian with which Castiel had secretly graced every wall.  Castiel told Sam that Lisa's house was one of the most consecrated in all of Indiana.

"Dean?"  Ben yelled, not taking his eyes off Sam. "It's for you."

Dean pushed back his chair, grumbling.  "Dude, I got a piping hot ribeye here that's not gonna eat itself."

As Dean walked the few steps to the door, Castiel saw Dean check his mental list of neighbors against the inventory of power tools lining the garage, saw him bet on Dennis and the powerwasher-- the siding on the north side of the house a few doors down was looking a little green. 

He stopped dead in shock at the sight of his brother in the doorway, just shy of one year gone.

The world, in one sense, stopped turning as the Winchester brothers locked eyes.

The world stopped turning, time fell away from reality, as two souls, mates so twinned that all of Hell and Heaven had fallen paltry against them, leapt to greet one another, as their bodies stood riveted, hearts pounding, heat and cold running through them by turns.

Dean took a staggering step towards the door.

"Sam?"

"Dean."

Castiel was no stranger to glory. He was a creature fashioned of it, so that even a glimpse of the truth of him would burn away the unveiled eye. But the glory of this reunion shone so dazzling, Castiel thought of the brilliance of the Lightbringer bursting from his cage.

Now the prime agent of that Almighty, Castiel veiled his own staring eyes, humbled yet again by the power and the glory of human love.

Sam was a boy again, warm and treasured in the arms of his brother, the most important person in the world.

Dean, grown whole in a life he'd found worth living, was dizzy with joy at finding the pearl beyond all price.

They embraced, and time had no meaning -- two brothers, cleaving together, mighty heroes out of myth.

"Oh, my God!"  Lisa said, in shock.

Dean broke free, the tears streaming down his face too familiar, the wide smile something she had never seen, something Castiel saw her hesitantly echo.  

"Lisa," he croaked, overcome. "It's Sam.  It's Sam." Dean reached for her with an open hand and Lisa stepped forward.

"Hey,"  Sam said, shy, maybe blubbering a little.

"How?"   Lisa said, a little suspicious, her mettle up and equal to any Winchester's.

Sam widened his eyes, helpless to explain, speechless for once.

Castiel folded a few of his wings and stepped into the foyer.

"Lisa Braeden, the blessings of the Lord on you and all your house." 

Lisa blinked and bowed her head slightly, but held her ground.

"You must be Castiel."

"Yes."  Dean looked between them, still latched onto Sam with white knuckles, certain to leave a bruise.

"What took you so long?"  A little fire, a little anger, sprang up in this righteous woman. She'd held Dean up when he was struggling to stand alone, learning who he could possibly be without his brother.

"Perhaps we could all sit down? There are many tales to tell, and we'll need plenty of time to tell them. "

"Dude, you're an Angel!"  Ben said, loud, taking everything in.  Castiel saw that he had stealthily produced the holy water and the silver letter opener from the foyer table drawer, but at least he hadn’t brandished them.

"And I'm your uncle," Sam suggested.

Dean's face cracked open with happiness, and in a flash, he was that nineteen year old kid Lisa had waited more than a decade to see again someday. 

"Dude, you're Uncle Sam!   I want you!" Dean intoned, pointing a finger.

Sam opened his arms, grinning.  "You got me."

 


End file.
